


Why Can't We Be Normal

by RockSaltandCherryPie



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon-adjacent, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltandCherryPie/pseuds/RockSaltandCherryPie
Summary: The silent night air closed in on the two men, the wide, orange sky slowly turning black. Two fold-out chairs and a beaten up old RV sat in the middle of absolutely nowhere, clouds of smoke licking into the air. The two men, who sat staring up at the stars that began to emerge, were completely at peace. This was their safe place. And with nothing but each other, nowhere to go, no pressing matter, they could just enjoy each other’s company. Two sides of the same coin. As night fell, two hands met, fingers grazed and intertwined. It was as subtle as the night breeze. It was an unspoken gesture of affection that neither of them were quite prepared for. And too quickly it was over. Never to be spoken about again.
Relationships: Jesse Pinkman & Walter White, Jesse Pinkman/Walter White
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Why Can't We Be Normal

**Author's Note:**

> It's been ages since I posted anything TV-related on here! And well, I started Breaking Bad a few days ago (I'm only on season 3) but already I'm in too deep. I am complete Heisenbitch trash. I tried to stay away from another ship, I really did. It didn't work out too well. I have big plans for this series, so stick around if you're also Walt/Jesse trash and we gon' get on fine.

_The silent night air closed in on the two men, the wide, orange sky slowly turning black. Two fold-out chairs and a beaten up old RV sat in the middle of absolutely nowhere, clouds of smoke licking into the air. The two men, who sat staring up at the stars that began to emerge, were completely at peace. This was their safe place. And with nothing but each other, nowhere to go, no pressing matter, they could just enjoy each other’s company. Two sides of the same coin. As night fell, two hands met, fingers grazed and intertwined. It was as subtle as the night breeze. It was an unspoken gesture of affection that neither of them were quite prepared for. And too quickly it was over. Never to be spoken about again.  
_

It had been three weeks. Three weeks since Walter White had been in contact with Jesse Pinkman, his former student turned meth-cooking partner. Things had gone to shit so fast that Walt couldn’t keep track of them anymore. He had watched a girl not much older than his own son choke on her own vomit, had watched Jesse completely fall apart, had even held him in his arms as he unravelled. There was an ache he felt deep in his chest every time he recalled that horrific, repulsive place he found Jesse in, high out of his mind and broken from within. He had watched as two planes collided just above his house, pieces of metal and people exploding over his head. Skylar had kicked him out of his own house. A house he paid for, with money he earned. Skylar wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Not that he blamed her. But he had met with Gustavo and told him he wanted out. He had lost everything because of this ridiculous business. He had nothing left. Walt struggled with his own thoughts during that three weeks. Jesse was at some rehabilitation center just north of the city, and Walt hadn’t been to visit him since his operation. Couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. The sight of the kid, tears streaming down his wrecked face, often came to him in the dead of night, repeatedly haunting his dreams. He hadn’t slept in God knows how long. 

Walter was at the bus station now, ready to pick Jesse up. His hazard lights clicked loudly in the silent confinement of the station wagon. His knuckles gripped the steering wheel, almost turning white. After all this, after everything they had been through together, he still had no idea how to talk to Jesse. And then he saw him, coming out of the station, only one bag in his hand. His clothes, a grey shirt and jeans, had significantly improved from his usual loud, XXL attire, and he looked clean and incredibly small. He got in the car, and slouched down in the seat, looking straight ahead. 

For a while the two of them just sat there, listening to the clicking of the hazard lights, until Walt looked over. Jesse looked tired. Not from lack of sleep, just from bearing a too-heavy weight on his young shoulders. 

“How are you?” Walt asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Fine,” Jesse answered too quickly.

With that, Walt put the car into gear and drove off. 

Jesse watched as the familiar roads, stores and signs passed by the window. They looked the same, and yet somehow different. Everything looked different now. He had this sick feeling in his stomach on almost a daily basis, that returned every time he thought of _her_ , of those planes... Even puked a few times because of it back at the rehab center. Every time it crept up, he fought with it, trying to push it back down. It was here now, but he tried his best to occupy his thoughts with other things. Walt had had his operation, he could ask him how that went. From the looks of things, probably well. That conversation would end quickly. He glanced over at Walt, who, like him, didn’t appear to be in much of a talking mood. 

They drove in silence until they reached a destination Jesse didn’t recognize. It was a small apartment complex on the west side of town, two stories, kinda crappy looking. Well, crappy for Walt. 

As they got out of the car, Jesse uttered a quick “what happened, Skylar kick you out?”

He said it only half-jokingly, but judging by Walt’s lack of response it struck a nerve too close to home. So he hadn’t been the only one going through shit these past three weeks. As unfortunate as that was, it was somehow oddly reassuring to Jesse. 

“This is you,” Walt said after they went inside the place. He gestured to a plain sofa against the wall. He could tell from Walt’s voice that he was tired. Strained, stressed. Their voices seemed to sound almost the same. 

“Thanks,” Jesse muttered, sitting on it and finding it decently comfortable. 

Walt cleared his throat and went into the kitchen, just a few paces away. The place was small, too small for two people. But it was all either of them had right now, and it was enough. “You hungry?” He asked Jesse. “We could get some takeout or something.”

“Did your wife really do it? Kick you out?” Jesse asked after a long pause.

Walt turned to face him and leaned his hands on the counter in front of him. He sighed. “She did.”

After all this time, after everything the poor bastard had done for his family, it had amounted to nothing in the end. Jesse couldn’t believe it. “Sorry, man.”

Walt shrugged. “Had it coming.”

They ate Chinese from Fung Shing restaurant that night, and ended up playing cards with a couple of beers. Walt had no TV yet, so they had to make do with what they had. 

The following morning, Walter woke up before Jesse. The kid that was asleep on his couch now was a completely different person from the kid that lay asleep next to his dead girlfriend. This morning, with the sunlight lingering over his blonde hair, he looked... innocent. More like himself. Walt decided to make eggs and toast for the both of them. They were together again, and that was something to be celebrated. No, it wasn’t the most ideal situation, but they were alive. Safe. Clean.

The sizzling of eggs in the frying pan woke Jesse, and he stirred into consciousness. He glanced over, squinting as he took in the sight of Walter hovered over the stove. 

He smirked. “Whatcha cookin there, Mr. White?”

Walt turned and gave him a crooked smile. “What do you think?”

Jesse stood and stretched. He had been giving a pair of Walt’s sweatpants to sleep in and they hung loose on his hips. He was starving. “Smells good,” he said. 

They ate together on the couch. There was too much pepper on the eggs but Jesse didn’t mind. It was still heaps better than the crap he was fed in rehab. Now that Jesse was out, and clean, he was starting to find his mind wandering back to the way things were. Between him and Walt. Cooking, selling, making money. More than he cared to admit, he missed it. 

“Hey, Mr. White...” he said with a mouthful. 

“Swallow your food, Jesse.”

Jesse swallowed, and put down his plate. “Do you think now that, uh... you know, now that things are kind of back to normal, we can—” Jesse paused, finding it hard to get the words out. Walt looked over at him, waiting. “We can start cooking again?” Jesse knew how it sounded. And he practically was anticipating what came next.

Walt gritted his teeth and put his own plate down on the table in front of them. “Things _aren’t_ normal, Jesse. They never were.”

“I know, I know, but if we just—”

“There’s no more _we_. There’s no more cooking. I’m done.” Walt took on the gravelly, aggressive tone he always did when he spoke to Jesse.

“You’re done— what do you mean you’re done?” Jesse stuttered, watching Walt intently. 

“It means _no more cooking_.” Walt stood, grabbing his empty plate and practically throwing it into the sink. Jesse was surprised it didn’t shatter. “Understand?” He shouted. “I’ve lost _everything_ , Jesse. Everything I cared about. Done. It’s over.”

Jesse stood now too. “Yeah, well that makes two of us! You don’t think I’ve lost shit?” He was raising his voice now, too. And judging by the place he was ready to guess the walls were pretty thin. But he didn’t care. “You’ve lost people you care about, sure. But what about losing _yourself_?”

Walt stared at him incredulously. 

“I don’t —” Jesse started, quieter this time. “Cooking is the only thing I’m good at, man.” His eyes sunk, knuckles gripping the counter. His palms were wet, shaking. He was starting to feel sick again. _Not again_.

Walt observed him for what felt like a century, before sighing. “That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah? Then tell me! Tell me what exactly it is I’m good at.” Jesse was finding it harder to breathe. His chest tightened, seizing up as the nausea threatened to return. 

Walt seemed to search for words, but he couldn’t quite find any.

Jesse didn’t give him a chance to answer that question. He left before Walt could say anything. 

Jesse slammed the door shut behind him, wishing it would shatter. _Done. There’s no we_. His stomach flip-flopped around, a heat took to his cheeks. He leaned against the wall outside, trying to get his bearings. If he didn’t calm down and breathe, he would lose it all. _Not again. Jane. Blue and lifeless, lying next to him. 167 deaths._ His mouth went dry and sour. It was coming. He keeled over, clutching his throbbing stomach. And that’s when the bile came, poured out hot onto the gravel. He groaned, falling over, his back scraping the cement wall behind him. He leaned against it, head falling back as he waited for the dizziness to settle. 

Fine. If Mr. White didn’t want to work with him anymore, he would just drive that damn RV out into the middle of nowhere and cook himself. 


End file.
